I, myself and me

Putting this all in to one story is going to be nightmare, but I really need to share, you see being myself is brilliant, but being myself and coping with me is not so good. It beggars belief that someone of my age is unable to tame the other person up there in my brain. Oh we all have her or him, that other person, whether you call her the mind, the consciousness, the chimp, the demon or whether you just believe that you are a raving lunatic and it’s the rest of the world that has to accept that. We are all of two minds.

Imagine this. There you are at a party and this gorgeous looking woman walks in. She is dressed in a shear elegant gown and her toned body gracefully glides through the door. Her hair is sunkissed and compliments her skin perfectly, pinned up with not a whisp unintentionally out of place. She looks amazing and all eyes fall to her magnificents. You have two reactions. The first being “Wow”, the second being “Bitch”. Be honest its true. Even you men want to be that toned, Ok you might not want the curves and waves but you wish she hadn’t walked in for at least another six months to give you a chance to get buff, or that she had come into your life 20 years ago, when you were buff. Both you and yourself have different reactions to her.

I had just finished a hard session at the gym and in she walked with her husband. They were tall, good looking and tanned. A bit too tanned for my liking but they both looked amazing. Myself, thought they had done well, not being that young and still looking after themselves. Me just went “bloody show offs.”

The pay off to this story. She opened her mouth. It was foul. In a broad Gordie accent, not a melodic swirl of sylables as with most Gordies, this was gutteral, she screamed at her husband, the profanity was murderous and me celebrated, whilst the myself side berated me for being a bitch.

We keep the me safely locked up most of the time, but every now and again you have to let her out to play. Watching the boxing, she has full reign. At a rugby match she screams her bloody head off. When dancing to the radio alone in the kitchen on a sunny afternoon she whoops with joy and goes crazy. She cries at sad film, she is allowed out to play when propriety is abandoned. So what does myself do when she is out and about, and why should she be put in a corner to simmer?

Firstly let me introduce myself. I am a middleaged woman, a mother and a retired advocate and a trained accountant. I am a wife and a responsible adult. It wouldn’t have been a good idea to let me stand in front of a judge and tell him eactly what I thought about a claimant. I’d never have got passed the “your honour”. No myself had to hold me back, sit on her. Listen to her tell myself all the things that were wrong and myself had to ignore me.

The conversations that went on inside my head were histerical. There were the, “You really don’t believe a word you are saying,” conversations. The, “They are not listening to you, you might as well stand here and do the cancan,” conversations, and of course the, “Why do you bother,” conversations. Most women have that one every time they have something they think is important to tell their husbands.

Its a very blind person who thinks they have control over their own selves, they don’t. Ask yourself, why did you take the last biscuit and not offer it to anyone? Why did you pick your nose and wipe it on the side of your friends settee when you knew it was a gross thing to do. And why didn’t you report knocking the side mirror off the blue Fiat on 16th May 2016. I had a hell of a job replacing it. Please come forward, don’t worry I know it wasn’t you, it was your inner me.

You see me acts instictively. She doesn’t give two hoots about anything else, she controls you, you just have to be nice to her now and again, and that’s what I’ve been trying to do. I take her out and let her have some me time. You’ve heard that expression haven’t you, well now you know who me is.

Me is the one that I let go horse riding. I wouldn’t do it otherwise. The sensible side of myself wouldn’t spend money on trying to stay upright on a animal that could break my neck, unless there was a reason. I let me have fun and jump in puddles, I’m the self that has to go home wet and mucky and be sensible and clear up the mess, but if she isn’t allowed to play she gets grumpy and she acts out in other ways. She starts telling myself things that upset me.

So I appease her, until she gets bored and goes to sleep and I can get on with life or I fight her and end up getting in a mess because she is stronger than myself. Balance has to be maintained. Most of you can do that without realising it, some better than others, but deep down you all know exactly what I’m saying. You have to have fun to be able to get on with living.

Then there is I, don’t forget I, she is the most important person of all. Go back, what did I say, I am a wife, a mother, middle aged. I am a sum of me and myself and I am the one that has to keep these two children happy and content. So what I choose to do makes the difference. Sometimes I don’t choose the right way. For instance, when I heard our tanned Gordie bellow, I let the me out and laughed out loud, then myself felt guilty and scolded me for being an idiot. When myself gets overwhelmed with all the things in life I have to do, I have to let me out and show myself that fun and laughter is good for us. It’s a balancing act I’m not too good at, and right now me is winning. Not the me that want’s to have fun, the me that is instinctly pushing. She sees everything and doesn’t hold her tongue, she controls my emotions and is pushing me to the brink of exhaustion. She has decided that I have to sleep a lot and I have to pick fault in everything and that I can’t be happy unless I am feeding her by doing and saying things that are nonsensicle. She is being a bloody pain.

“You’re schizoid.”
“You’ve multiple personality syndrome.”
No I’m just tired. Tired of letting myself be the upright, sensible middle aged woman that has to be prim and proper and above reproach. I am tired of getting up and making coffee every morning, I am tired of watching my diet, trying to stay slim. I am tired of looking at the same four walls and the worn out carpet, I am letting me get out there and scream her bloody head off. The only problem being I don’t know if myself will ever regain control. I think she may have gone to far and pushed myself out. I think I have lost myself. Me doesn’t want fun anymore, I have tried to keep her happy. Tried to keep her occupied but I have failed.

I have to find myself again, and that is not going to be easy. I have to go back inside and sit me down and explain to the child that she can’t have everything her own way, that sometimes she has to have a kip and let the grown up take over, let myself in and let her have a say. I am lost, I am tired and I am trying to redress the balance between the two entities inside my head. Which will win, I don’t know. Which one has the most to lose I don’t know. No one wants to lose the me, no one wants to live life without the emotion, the fun and the tears that me brings, but no one wants to live on their wits constantly, sometimes myself has to prevail and I am the only one that can make that happen.

The post is a mess, as am I right now. Mark is at a loss, the Doctors have made me an appointment to see the trick cyclist, and in the mean time, me wants to go out and skip in the rain and eat sweet pastries. Myself needs to get the washing done and sort out the shopping, and I have to sit here and wait until one or tuther wins out.
“Why don’t I just stand up and get on with it?”
Have you ever fought against a full grown woman who is protecting her children? Let me tell you something, it’s one thing to face a person you can see, it’s a completely different story fighting someone you know is there but will never get to meet.

 

There is no moral. It seems that I’m either menopausal or I have bipolar disorder. Age, huh, who would have guessed it could cause so many problems. By the next time I write I might have an answer.

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